I stand up straight, my brain coming back from its tangent. “Hi, Callie.”
She watches me in the reflection of the mirror. “I know El has been, like, super good to you since you guys were kids. But you telling her she couldn’t enter the pageant? That was a shit thing for you to do.”
I feel naked. Like, somehow, in the midst of all of her anger, El might have revealed every little one of my secrets and insecurities. “Callie, listen, I don’t know you, but I don’t have to know much to know that I don’t like you. So back off and mind your own business.”
“Whatever.” She throws her hands up. “Ya know, she’s better off without you. At least now you’re not around to drag her down.” She turns, but then whips back around to add, “And you wanna know what else? If you would put a little effort in and take care of yourself, you’d be surprised how much of a difference it would make. And I don’t even mean that in a rude way. I’m just being honest.” Reaching down the front of her dress, she re-tucks her boobs into her bra. “By the way, despite what you and your friends might think, this pageant isn’t some feel-good after-school project where you get an A for effort.” She walks off. Which is good because I’m about two steps away from breaking her nose.
The door swings shut behind her, and I listen as her heels clack against the linoleum floor.
Maybe she’s right. Maybe my life would fall into place if I could shed a hundred pounds. I’m holding back the tears brimming in my eyes. Maybe it all comes down to me and this body.
Mitch is dutifully waiting for me behind the DJ, who isn’t actually a DJ, but instead the varsity basketball manager armed with an iPod and speaker access.
I knock his elbow with mine. “Let’s dance.”
Mitch follows me out to the dance floor where I find Millie and her date, Malik. Amanda’s with them, too.
I’m kind of starting to love Amanda. She’s brusque and odd and the opposite of everyone else I know. She’s the type of person who overcommits to tapping her foot to the music and takes every joke too far. Right now, with her head bopping and her limbs flailing, she almost looks like one of those one-man bands, but without instruments.
I introduce them to Mitch even though we’ve all gone to school together forever.
Amanda elbows me in the side and whispers, “Not bad. But he’s no peachbutt.”
“What about you?” I ask. “Did you ask anyone?”
She leans in, but doesn’t stop moving her head. “Options were limited, so I decided to fly solo.”
“You’re not solo!” yells Millie. “You’re with us. Right, Malik?”
Malik takes Millie’s hand. “Yeah, of course.”
My damn heart explodes. Because, to me, Malik and Millie are homecoming/winter formal/spring fling/prom king and queen combined into one.
The next song starts up and it’s the type of song that makes people rub their crotches together. Because they’re horrible human beings, Millie, Amanda, and Malik abandon us for the refreshments table.
The space around us is filling in with horny teenagers. Mitch must see the panic in my face. He takes my arms and wraps them around his neck. His meaty hands barely touch my waist, but I suck in as deep as I can. I can’t help it. And, in the midst of the grinding and sloppy making out, we begin to slow dance.
“I like takin’ it easy,” Mitch says. He is the epitome of southern gentleman in his creased khakis, plaid pearl-snap shirt, and brown boots.
Slowly, I let my body ease into his.
We dance slow to fast songs and fast to slow songs, creating our own rhythm.
Patrick works his way over to us, basically dry humping as many girls as he can on his way. “Hey, man,” he says to Mitch. “I’d be careful with this one. She’s violent.” And then to me he says, “The baby maker still works. In case you were wondering.”